Different (and not afraid to admit it)

Let’s just say, yesterday was a very, very dramatic day. I even broke out the remaining wine I had stashed away in a Rue La La box, that’s how bad it was. (And guzzled it down straight from the bottle, no glasses were even used.)

By now, if you’ve been keeping track of my posts on here (or most of them), you probably think that I am a very melodramatic person, with nothing happy to report. Well, that is true…but only somewhat. Truth be told, I have bad days, then good days, then bad days. One day I’ll be happy as a clam, and the other…well, I’ll just say I’m emotionally fucked up. It’s like a merry-go-round sometimes. So much so at times, that I’ve come to the self-made conclusion that I suffer from depression.

Of course, I am not a certified therapist, psychologist, or psychiatrist, but having majored in Psychology (oh, the irony) I am more than familiar with the warning signs and red flags of depression. To be more accurate, I would say that depression has afflicted me for quite a few years, even before I started college. It all started with my best friend. We went to school together, up until the time it came for us to go off to university. As we survived the years of high school together, I noticed that guys were more attracted to her than to me, and whenever she started dating someone, she would be off like a pop, focusing totally on that one guy and not so much on her friends. You know. But anyway, her success in the dating world (or rather, high school dating world) made me quite insecure and jealous. I started to think I wasn’t good enough, let alone attractive enough for anyone. I felt I wasn’t attention-inducing, and it all aggravated me, as you can imagine. 

That probably doesn’t sound shocking enough. By now you are probably saying or thinking, “Every schoolgirl goes through that period of uncertainty, that story isn’t exactly special enough.” Well, I think it is certainly a special case, as it ebbed swiftly into depression. I genuinely began to feel insecure about myself and I slowly started to develop poor body image, although that wouldn’t actually attack me until years later. I would be in college when that happened.

Once I graduated from high school and began attending university, I started to starve myself. It wasn’t deliberate at first…whenever I had classes all day, I would forget about eating lunch due to money. Or, I would not be interested in eating midday at all. It was usually either one of those. If my parents (especially my mother) asked what I ate that day, I would just say, “Salad.” Of course, this process was gradual, as there would be times that I would actually eat something. Also, my depression was evolving. In high school I lamented about not getting a boyfriend, but my beginnings in college were marked by getting cut at sorority rush (or recruitment I should say), as well as a slight falling out with one of my friends from high school. So, it is safe to assume that all those things made things even more unstable. I did manage to get over the sorority rush stuff though, but it took quite a while. And as for the falling out with my friend that was short lived, we resumed hanging out after the fall semester began. A bit too much I might add as my grades did suffer a little.

As the semesters waned on I found that whenever I was upset, I did not like to eat at all. You know how there are people who eat because they’re upset? Well, I was definitely not one of those people, because I absolutely loathed eating whenever I was upset, or say, depressed. I even didn’t eat that much last night, it was all forced if I did. Also, being single got under my skin again, as well as dealing with guys who did not really care for me in the long run. I think that really hurt the most than being single. I also dealt with people who turned out to be fake (that sort of thing comes with being in a sorority, I probably should have disowned her by now), the stress that is usually affiliated with grad school, and just feeling inadequate, insecure, and sometimes even jealous. All in all, my depression was still there. There was enough to fuel the fire. 

You’re probably asking, “Why didn’t you get help?” Well, I did go to counseling, quite a lot, I might add. I was even prescribed anti-depressants, which one of my friends said was good for me, because I did appear to be more cheerful. I mean, actually cheerful. That usually doesn’t happen. The counseling did help quite a bit, I am not going to lie about that, and it was in a counseling session that I finally admitted I had an eating disorder. Or disordered eating. It is pretty much the same thing. Plus, the counseling was free to students, which was why I considered it. No way in hell I was going to pay like $50 per session.

College ended, and for starting off on the wrong foot, academic wise, things actually turned out nicely, as I wound up being on the Dean’s List twice in a row (basically my whole senior year), and even got a decent Psychology GPA. But my mental health was far from healed, and now, things aren’t that different. Since my dad’s stroke, I think that my mental health has been even more exacerbated. I still feel worthless at times, at times I wind up getting really jealous of most (but not all) people I know who are married or engaged, I have a strong fear of getting fat, and one can say I am a perfectionist. I also have problems with anxiety. And socially, it is hard to be not a wallflower when you are worried what others may think of you. Also, my family is also to blame. I love them all, but there have been times when they have been less than helpful. I remember when I was still in college, my dad actually said to me, “You’re making everyone depressed when you’re depressed.” Well, thanks, Dad. (How about getting me help, if you’re really so depressed?) And this whole stroke thing? I have been suffering from depression for years, but then he gets this stroke, and all of a sudden it’s like everyone is paying attention to him. While in all my years of dealing with low self-esteem and feeling worthless, I have gotten less than the amount of attention he is getting, and it burns me up to be honest. I know that strokes are a BIG deal, and they can disable you, but depression is just as evil and horrible as strokes are. Not everyone sees that though, unfortunately. So I find that not discussing my problems so much, especially to family, is better than discussing it at all. I guess my dad’s comment got to me after all. I put on this fake smile and pretend like nothing is going on, when in fact the opposite is true.

So, that is my story. Last night was really bad, and I don’t think it made my mental health better. The drinking, too. I forgot to add…about the starving myself bit, I have to say that my family had something to do with it too. I remember my mum (she still kind of does this sometimes) watching as I ate sugary stuff and crap like that and her saying, “You’re going to get fat.” No lie.